


Do Not Go Gentle

by Sioux



Series: The Vanishing Pints [4]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:32:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sioux/pseuds/Sioux
Summary: Years in a future where Robbie never lived with Laura Hobson.





	Do Not Go Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost.

 

Lewis lifts his head from the news pad paying attention to the soft sound of footsteps pacing slowly down the hallway to the lounge. Quickly as he can he gets up from the table, cursing the sharp ache from his knees and hips.

'You were asleep last time I looked,' he says loudly.

Fast, shallow breathing can be made out in counterpoint to the shuffling feet.

'Needed to stretch my legs,' Hathaway gasps out, the silent, self-propelling trolley at his side keeping automatically to his slow pace.

Lewis looks but doesn't really see the ashen skin stretched tight at too prominent cheek bones and temple. The nasal cannula accents the severe hollows of his face. Deep lines of old pain have dragged the younger man's mouth down at the corners. Lewis is too used to the way illness has aged and altered the other man's features.

Without fuss Lewis puts his arm around Hathaway's waist, on the opposite side to the patient trolley, Hathaway puts his arm around Lewis' shoulder as together, performing a well rehearsed dance, they shuffle towards the soft furnishings.

'Chair?' Lewis asks.

'Sofa,' James replies, his voice hardly above a breath.

Underneath the gasping breath Lewis can still hear the suppressed ruttling of too much fluid in James' lungs.

'Have you had your antibiotics this morning?' Lewis asks as he settles his thin framed husband on the sofa.

James nods, rather too light-headed to reply after his ill advised trek from the bedroom.

'I'll put the kettle on then.'

James smiles tiredly up at him then closes his eyes, leaning his head back on the cushioning.

Lewis walks into the kitchen, not quite as spry as once upon a time but reasonably fit for a retired copper his age. 

He brews a fresh pot of tea and brings it with mugs, milk, sugar and a glass of water into the larger room, placing them on the coffee table which sits in front of the long sofa with its specially designed cushioning which doesn't cause pressure sores on skin which no longer has enough natural cushioning of its own. 

He props James' emaciated legs up on a padded footstool to take the strain off his hips and knees.

Half filling one of the mugs he adds milk and one sugar, leaving it and his own mug to one side to cool.

'Do you want anything to eat?'

James shakes his head without opening his eyes.

'Let's have a look at the gizmo then. Are you in any pain?'

'No,' James replies, moving his left arm so Robbie can look at the small black box which hangs around James' waist under his pyjama top. The screen is a steady green but from force of habit he still checks the two lines which go from the box and disappear into the skin each side of James' spine. The entry site on the left looks a trifle pink.

'Is this side itching at all?' he asks, gently touching the skin.

'No, can't feel a thing. Is that tea drinkable yet?'

Without comment Lewis picks up the cup, James putting his trembling hands around his hands, and guides the rim so he can sip carefully.

Lewis steady grip is required as James' nerves, like the rest of his tissues, are oxygen starved which causes a fine tremor and quite often stronger twitches, and can make holding anything steady somewhat difficult.

He nods when he's drunk enough.

'Well, where shall we go today,' Lewis asks, sipping from his own mug.

'How about a quick trip to Petra, the heat will do your arthritis good,' James replies, a smile on his face.

'Or the pyramids. The light in Egypt is really quite something.'

'We could combine them,' James says, rolling his head towards Lewis. 'Start off in Cairo, follow the Nile down to Abu Simbal then strike across to Jordan and Petra.'

Lewis looks at the old clock hanging on the wall, a wedding present to them from Jean Innocent.

'Think we can manage all that in a couple of hours?'

'Don't see why not.'

Lewis pats James nearest knee as he pushes himself up from the seat and pads over to the entertainment unit against the wall. He flicks the power switch, immediately the whole wall changes to a soft blue, slowly the head and body of a kind faced, plump, middle-aged woman forms in the room. She's not just an image on the screen she looks as if she really is standing in the room with them. She nods and smiles at both men, as she says,

'Good morning James, good morning Robbie. How may I help you today?'

'Morning Vhia,' Robbie replies, returning to his seat.

'James, I have a calendar reminder that Doctor Jeelahlah has reserved an appointment to see you at twelve fifteen this afternoon. She will be accompanied by Nurse Simmons.'

'Thank you, Vhia,' James responds quietly, knowing the Virtual Humanoid Interface Application will be able to pick up his words.

Robbie explains the details of the 'trip' they want to take plus the additional parameter of allowable time.

'And no helmets, Vhia,' James adds, moving himself carefully so he's leaning on his husband's shoulder. 'OK?' he asks, looking up at Robbie.

'Course it is, soft lad,' Robbie replies, putting his arm around James shoulder and gently gathering him closer before their lounge explodes in a riot of colour, sounds, and scents of downtown Cairo. The clear, crystal light of an Egyptian early morning lays it's brilliance over the moving scenes around them.

It's rather a shock to both of them when their native guide drives them onto a fairly narrow road which runs up the sandy hillside from the clusters of shops and homes huddling at the bottom of the hill close beside the railway tracks. As the dusty road begins to crest the hill a well known sight seems to grow out of the hill top; huge stones reaching skywards, piercing the blue mantle above them. The sheer scale of the great pyramid of Cheops takes their breath away. 

When viewing pictures it is impossible to sense the size of the lower levels, the fixity and age of each stone, cut by hand and slotted into place without the space to insert even a sheet of paper between them.

They are on the trip down the precipitous duckboards into the interior of the second tomb when Robbie feels James grow a little restless. He pauses the virtual reality trip and looks down at his partner.

'Are you uncomfortable, pet?'

James doesn't answer right away. He swallows and pats Robbie's chest twice.

'I think it's time,' he replies, sounding almost confused but meeting Robbie's eyes and giving a small, snuffling smile. 'It's time.'

'Doctor's not due for another hour, love,' Robbie corrects him gently.

James shakes his head, his eyes bright and more full of life than Robbie can ever remember seeing them.

James strokes the side of Robbie's face and says strongly and clearly,

'I love you.'

Suddenly Robbie understands and his heart goes cold. In the scant handful of seconds it takes for Robbie to move and put both arms around his husband, James' hand falls from his face and his eyelids close, forever locking away the intelligence, integrity, compassion and love of one James Hathaway.

Quietly, without fuss, Vhia snaps Cairo out of existence, her emergency alarm already activated as soon as James' heart went into ventricular tachycardia.

Several minutes later an emergency medic enters their home. Robbie is holding his husband tightly, tears running down his seamed and wrinkled skin. 

The young man confirms the death and speaks his condolences to the widower respectfully. He takes the oxygen line off at Robbie's request and shuts down the tank. In the sudden silence Robbie's unsteady breathing and quiet grief sounds oddly loud. The man goes away for a short time then returns with a hot drink and a light blanket which he tucks carefully around Robbie's back and shoulders.

A succession of people pass in front of Robbie's eyes but he takes very little notice of them. He holds onto James not wishing to relinquish his body even though he knows the essential James Hathaway no longer resides at that address. His face shows no sign of his internal screams or his raging at a deity he hasn't believed in for a very long time. There is only one question hammering at his brain; Why have I been left behind, again?

The next few days pass in an uncomfortable blur. Some memories stand out such as when he opens the door to an older woman. The woman looks at him, her eyes full of tears, whilst a middle-aged man and woman are taking bags out of a vehicle.

'Dad?' the woman says, her eyes narrowing in worry.

Suddenly it's as if a fog has lifted from his brain. The woman is Lyn, his daughter. When the hell did she get this old?

The middle-aged pair standing behind her are her children, his grandchildren.

Another memory which stays with him is seeing Laura Hobson, DS Wellman and Lyn having an intense conversation in the kitchen. Wellman had visited the house a few times when James had been put on extended sick leave, mainly to bring James the gossip on what cases were passing through his hands now.

'Robbie?' 

He turns to meet the red-rimmed eyes of a much older Jean Innocent, seated beside him.

'Ma'am?'

'It's been a long time since I've been 'ma'am'. It's just Jean now.'

She didn't bother with any platitudes just sat with him in silence.

 

All too soon the day of the funeral arrives. Robbie has lain in bed watching the dawn of a beautiful day. In his opinion it should be a day of gale force winds and torrential rain, not this arching blue sky, warming sun and the scent of the earth waking from its long winter slumber. Finally he levers himself out of their bed, showers and lays out his black suit and tie along with the shirt Lyn has pressed for him. Wearing black to a funeral is considered very old-fashioned these days. It's all bright colours to celebrate the life just passed. Robbie doesn't give a damn. Black matches his mood and outlook.

Standing in front of the wardrobe mirror as he ties his tie neatly and brushes down the lapels of his jacket, picking a piece of lint from the sleeve, he fastens the buttons on the jacket and pulls himself up as straight as he can.

'I like the blue one better. Brings out your eyes,' a familiar and much loved voice says wistfully.

Robbie stills. Behind him, reflecting in the mirror, James is lying at ease on their bed, ankles crossed, arms behind his head, watching Robbie dress. 

James looks amazing! Still slim but slim and well and sleek.

'You should wear the royal blue tie I bought you as well. It really suits you.'

Robbie doesn't dare move, afraid that the slightest shift in position will cause this wonderful hallucination to dissipate.

James' head shifts then he slowly sits up.

'Robbie, can you see me?'

Robbie nods through the mirror. James face breaks into a huge smile as he bounds off the bed and comes to stand behind his husband.

'At last!' He circles his arms around Robbie but doesn't actually touch him.

All the way down his back and the backs of his legs, the back of his head and the tops of his arms Robbie's skin tingles. He puts his hand up to touch James' arm but his hand passes straight through, feeling like it has passed through a field of static. His eyes fill with tears as his trembling lips form one word, 'James!'

'Don't love!' James pleads. 'We can't touch like we used to but I'm still here. I won't leave you again.'

Robbie is having difficulty catching his breath, his legs shaking beneath him, his vision greying out around the edges as he struggles to keep James' beloved face in sight. He can hear a cacophony erupting around him; Vhia calling his name as the wall screen snaps on beside him, Lyn hammering on the bedroom door and calling out, 'Dad! Dad!' 

The floor is coming up to meet him when strong arms catch him and help him over to the bed.

'It's alright, it's alright. I've got you.' That is Joe, his grandson. 

Behind him he can hear Lyn snap out commands to her daughter. 

'Elevate his legs, keep him sitting up, pack those pillows behind his back. Get rid of that tie.'

He doesn't quite lose consciousness. He's aware of the people around him and of the small sound as an air hypo pushes medication through his skin into his bloodstream. As it begins to work he can feel his heart settle into a more regular rhythm, his breathing steady and his brain begin to work again.

'He's stabilising,' Vhia reports.

'Thank you, Vhia,' Lyn replies, closing her medical bag.

'Bringing work home with you?' Robbie asks.

'Good thing I did. Have you ever had an episode like that before?'

Robbie shakes his head. He's feeling better but very tired all of a sudden. He gives a big sigh and tries to bring his legs round prior to standing.

'Where do you think you're going?' Lyn asks sharply.

Robbie raises tired eyes, not in the mood for playing silly games.

'I postponed the funeral, Dad. We've sent out notifications and it's not like James is going to mind.'

'Postponed it to when?'

'Three days. Give you a chance to recover.'

Robbie rubs his hand over his face.

'You should have left me, just let me go with him, lass.'

'No!'

The one word from two voices comes so sharply Robbie is startled.

'No, Dad,' Lyn repeats softly and reaches out to enfold her father in a hug. 'James would say the same, I know he would.'

Robbie snorts. He can no longer see James but he knows he heard him agreeing with his daughter just as she'd predicted.

'What did you give me?' Robbie asks a few minutes later.

'Something to strengthen the beat and a sedative,'

'Wondered why I suddenly feel like I could sleep for England,' Robbie replies, dryly. 'Well before whatever it was gets to work properly, give me a hand to get out of this monkey suit.'

 

When Robbie wakes again the bedroom is dark.

''Time is it, Vhia?' 

'Twenty oh two, Robbie,' she replies. 'Do you require anything?'

'No. Thank you,' he adds. 

He rubs his face feeling somewhat hung-over and muzzy. He sighs deeply, his eyes roaming over the room. 'James?' he whispers and waits, and waits some more. 'You might as well answer, I know you're here.'

'You're not going to freak out on me again, are you?' his voice in the darkness asks.

He gives a half smile as he replies, 'No. I don't think so anyway.'

'How are you feeling?' James asks, from somewhere in the vicinity of Robbie's left ear.

'Hung-over. Why can't I see you?'

'Don't know. It's all new to me too. How did you know I was here if you can't see me?' James asks, after a pause.

'I didn't. Just hoped you'd answer if you thought I knew you were here.'

James laughs delightedly. 'You old bugger.'

'In all senses,' Robbie calmly agrees.

Robbie feels the bed dip on his right then sees the pillow indent. He turns onto his right side. He can see a vague man shape, as a darker shadow than the surrounding room. Carefully he begins to trace the shape of James' head. Mostly he is going by muscle memory of gentle, loving touches from the last twenty odd years of his intimate relationship with James. He can feel a tingle running up from his fingertips, sometimes strong, sometimes weak. He assumes the stronger times are when he is making contact.

'Can you feel this?' Robbie asks curiously.

'Yeah, just wish you'd get your fingers out of my nose, though.'

Robbie huffs a laugh and aims a gentle slap where he thinks a shoulder would be; hurt, frustration and a degree of anger mixing together in the soft blow but the over riding emotion is longing. He so very much wants to be able to touch his husband again. 

They are both surprised when Robbie's hand meets resistance.

'Do that again?' James asks. 

Robbie does as he is bidden but this time his hand passes right through.

'Damn!' Robbie mutters.

'Seconded,' James says. 'Carry on though,' he coaxes.

'Can you feel anything?'

'Sort of. Like a tingling feeling. It's nice.'

Robbie continues to trace the lineaments of his lover's face with James telling him what he's touching.

'Eyebrow, forehead, cheek, under my eye, down my nose... hey, it's not that big! Philtrum, top lip.'

Here Robbie pauses, his fingertips marking the place for a few seconds before his own lips cover the ones he can no longer see.

A wider range of sensations dance over the sensitive skin of his lips but less physical and more ephemeral. Even lacking normal pressure, the kiss is still, undoubtedly, a kiss.

Robbie settles back onto his side again with a deep sigh.

'I miss you,' he whispers and closes his eyes, scalding tears spilling from between his eyelids

Each side of his face register James' hands as slightly cool tingling whilst a series of distinct touches, from his forehead, along his nose and under each eye, he knows are kisses.

'I meant it Robbie, I'm here for as long as you want me.'

'Just tell me one thing.'

'If I can.'

'How long do I have to be here?'

'I'm sorry love, I don't know the answer to that.'

'So all the stories of you getting to know everything are a load of rubbish?'

'Some of them, not all. You're taking this very well for a man who hasn't believed in any kind of spirituality for decades.'

'You believed, and I believed in you. It was enough.' After a few seconds he adds, 'I don't want to be here without you.'

'Please Robbie, don't even think of bringing yourself across. I don't think we'll be together if you do and I won't be able to bear that. Please, for me?'

Swallowing back his aching grief Robbie asks in a whisper, 'Hold me?' and gladly surrenders to the insubstantial touch of his deceased husband.

 

The day of the rearranged funeral dawns even brighter and warmer than the last one. Robbie, in his freshly pressed blue suit and blue tie, stands in the front row with Lyn on his right and his grandchildren with their spouses on his left. Their friends and colleagues, past and present, range behind him, most of them marvelling at his serenity and composure. Several of his closer friends wonder if his daughter has given him something from her medical bag to get him through the ceremony, not that they blame her. However when he greets them at the funeral lunch there is no sign of fogginess in his blue eyes; tear tracks on his cheeks but mostly it's acceptance they can see in his face.

If the truth be known, Robbie can't wait to get out of the place and back home to James although it's good to see and talk to all the people who are gathered to pay their respects.

In the previous days James and Robbie had discussed whether or not James should attend. It was easily the most surreal conversation Robbie had ever had; he and his recently deceased husband calmly talking over the practicalities of said deceased husband attending his own funeral! In the end James had opted to stay away. He hadn't got a good enough handle on his ability to be visible and he didn't know who else may be able to see him.

After Lyn has taken him home Robbie wants nothing more than a good cup of tea and his bed. He asks Lyn if she'll leave him alone once she's seen him into his house. 

'I just want to be on my own a bit, lass.'

To say she's unhappy is an understatement but she does as he asks. To alleviate some of her worry he lets her set Vhia to auto alert her if there is even the slightest suggestion he's becoming ill. 

Finally he can shut the door and lock it. He gets out of his suit, replacing the outfit with old comfortable trousers, t-shirt, shirt and warm pullover. He fills his teapot from the instant boiling water tap, stirring the tea around before he puts the lid on. As soon as he puts the teapot down James arms slide around his waist. Today Robbie can see him which is a relief. He feels the slight tingle as James' chin comes to rest on his shoulder and his cheek presses against his own.

'Hi,' James says quietly.

He closes his eyes revelling in the slight touch of his beloved.

'Hello you.'

'How was it?'

'Your funeral passed off very well,' Robbie replies. 'And thanks for not being there I would have ended up laughing or something.'

James sniggers softly against his neck.

'Wonder how that would have gone down?'

'Lyn would have been injecting me with something from her little bag of tricks, no doubt.'

'She means well.'

'Ah know she does. I just wanted it to be all over so I could get back here to you.'

James kisses his cheek then says, 'How about drinking your tea in the garden, if you're not too tired.'

'Yeah, why not.'

'Get your coat though.'

James is already seated by the time Robbie has retrieved his coat and joins him. They enjoy their garden. It is quite a substantial plot of land too which they have been using to grow their own fruit and vegetables as well as experiment with producing what James terms 'the perfect rose.' By which he means a good looking bloom, blood red centre with white outer petals and a deep, heady scent. Sometimes he achieved a decent but not perfect flower, other times a nice scent, combining the two hadn't happened but James remained optimistic; there was always the next one. 

When James had become terminally ill though the garden had fallen by the wayside, neither man having the energy to spare for looking after it. Robbie could see some work ahead to make good the neglect and catch up on the jobs which needed doing. Luckily it had been winter when they'd stopped working on it so things hadn't run too wild.

James places his hand over Robbie's where it rests on the table; their usual position when sitting outside.

'Think I'll make a start on getting some spring planting in tomorrow,' Robbie says. James flinches a little and rubs his mouth with his other hand.

'What?'

'You're going to have to do all the heavy work on your own,' James finally replies.

Robbie's cheeks dimple as he looks across at his husband.

'You do realise you're actually feeling guilty for being dead, don't you?'

After a few seconds James lips twitch and he laughs, a real honest to goodness laugh. Something Robbie hasn't heard for what feels like a very long time. They share a moment of silent communication before James asks,

'Where are you going to start?'

'I'll need to get the ground turned over and get some mulch in there. Get some early carrots and salad stuff going.'

'Will you have a check on my roses?'

'You'll have to tell me what to do then.'

'No problem. You'll soon pick it up.'

'You've been saying that for the last ten years,' Robbie reminds him around a prodigious yawn.

'Bed for you I think,' James laughs.

'Are you joining me?'

'If I'm still welcome?'

'Don't be daft man! Why wouldn't you be?'

James smiles at his most mischievous, pleased at having got that particular reaction out of Robbie.

'Awa!' Robbie says, drinking the last mouthful of his tea, realising he's been had.

They sit for a while longer until Robbie asks,

'Where do you go when you're not with me?'

James is silent for some time before saying,

'I don't know. Sort of like sleeping I suppose but I don't dream.'

'Are you on your own?'

'I don't think so,' James replies slowly sounding unsure.

Robbie raises his eyebrows.

'I don't see them and I don't communicate with them. And...' he stops, his forehead creasing.

'And?'

'And I think I asked for this. Or at least agreed with it. So I could stay, with you.'

Robbie swallows hard but that doesn't stop the sudden surge of tears spilling down his cheeks.

'Don't cry, love,' James whispers, stricken.

'Have I mentioned lately just how amazing you are?' Robbie asks, his voice wavering.

James ducks his head, showing all the signs of embarrassment before repeating, 

'I meant what I said, I'm with you for as long as you want me to be.'

 

The next morning Robbie wakes feeling well rested and wanting to get out into the garden. James doesn't seem to be around as he washes and dresses in his gardening clothes.

He pads into the lounge holding his wellies and goes to the glass doors which lead out to the garden. Pulling back the floor to ceiling curtains he nearly jumps three feet in the air, startled at seeing Hathaway standing just the other side of the glass rocking on his heels and grinning at him like a maniac.

'You keep on doing that and I'll be with you sooner not later,' he scolds, feeling his heart hammering. 'Silly sod!' he finishes.

'Come on old man. You're wasting daylight, get digging.'

Robbie aims a swat at him which passes through his husband quite harmlessly.

Robbie sets to work at the end of the garden and soon falls into the old rhythm of digging and turning the soil. James perches himself to one side, in a chair Robbie has thoughtfully provided, watching in silence.

After a couple of hours Robbie's tired but stubbornly pushes himself into continuing. He wants to finish turning this patch and put some mulch in during the afternoon.

'Robbie, that's enough. Take a break,' James says quietly.

Initially Robbie pretends not to hear.

'Robbie!'

'Yeah, in a minute,' he replies, panting hard.

'No, not in a minute, now,' James insists.

Robbie keeps going.

'Robbie! Enough!' James shouts, seriously worried now about his husband's breathing and the colour of his face. 'Stop now!' he roars, standing and reaching for the spade.

Robbie has just lifted it when it flies out of his hands, landing several feet away with a loud clatter. Both of them look at it, thunderstruck.

James stares at his hands then looks at Robbie who is still breathless and trembling a little.

'Sit down,' he growls, more than suspecting this had been a suicide attempt by overwork on Robbie's part, and he hadn't even seen it until it had been nearly too late.

'Did you do that?' Robbie asks.

James just points, imperiously, to the chair then kneels at his side until Robbie's breathing begins to slow again.

'How did you do that?' Robbie questions quietly. 

'I don't know. I was frightened for you. And I really wanted you to put that spade down. Did I hurt you?'

Robbie shakes his head then leans one elbow on the chair arm his hand across his mouth, thinking. It could be his imagination but James is looking particularly insubstantial in the sunlight.

'How are you feeling?' he asks. 'Tired?'

James nods. 'Please don't kill yourself in the bloody garden,' he begs before he fades completely out of sight.

Robbie's eyes narrow and he pulls his coat closer in response to the sudden cold spot around him. His face settles into a familiar pose, one which James, had he still been there, would recognise easily. 

Several hours later Robbie has mulched the ground, more carefully this time, fended off his daughter's concern, had a long, hot shower and eaten a good meal. He'd dropped off to sleep in front of the evening news cast when something jerks him awake. Quickly analysing sounds and sensations he pinpoints the new feeling he now associates with James, seconds later he hears him shouting,

'Robbie! Robbie!'

Levering himself out of the chair, grimacing at his stiffening muscles, he pulls the curtains back immediately spotting James in the garden, panic radiating from him in almost palpable waves.

As soon as James sees the light spilling out and Robbie's silhouette he strides, unbelievably quickly, towards the doors and straight through into the room.

'What happened?' Where did you go? I couldn't find you...'

Robbie soothes him. 'It's alright, it's OK. Calm down.'

Making a visible effort James does his best.

'I've been gone for hours, haven't I?' he finally asks.

Robbie nods. 'But it's given me some ideas.' He motions to the sofa then sits beside him. 'Let me try something first. Hold your hand out.'

Robbie concentrates, hard, bringing up all his longing to once again touch James properly, to hold him and kiss him then he turns all his emotional pain into a fierce want. Willing his hand to grasp James'. The effort is beading his forehead and hairline in sweat but he refuses to stop then he reaches out... and grasps a warm hand, substantial and solid. He smiles at the gasp of surprise from James and looks up at him as James curls his long fingers around his hand and holds on. Being within a hairs breadth of James' warmth and the possibility of kissing him is when Robbie's concentration wavers and he can no longer feel the physical shape of the hand in his.

'Bugger!' he swears softly, flopping back against the back of the sofa.

'I've got to want to touch you, really want to,' James says, ever the quick study.

'There might be an easier way but so far, that's what has happened each time. When I slapped your shoulder.'

'And when I took the spade out of your hands.'

'But when you do it, it takes so much energy you... disappear. This morning even the air where you'd been standing went really cold. So, from now on, I do the concentrating and you keep calm,' Robbie orders.

'Yes Sir!' Hathaway replies, sketching a salute. 'Now, I think you should calm down and let me pull my weight.'

Robbie looks mutinous and it doesn't take a genius to realise he's reacting from fear.

'I came back, Robbie,' he adds, gently.

'What if you don't?' Robbie bursts out. 'What if you just disappear and I never see you again?'

'Then you live your life in patience and know that I'll still be waiting for you.'

Robbie shakes his head. 'I'll take my chances and come and find you.'

'Please, please don't do that. Promise me?'

'I can't do that. And I'm not going to start lying to you now.'

James looks truly stricken. He swallows then slowly drops to his knees in front of Robbie.

'I'm begging you, on my knees, please, please don't.'

Robbie is appalled. James has never done this, not once in all the years they had been together.

'I'll find you,' Robbie promises grim-faced. 'Now get up.'

'Things don't work the same as they do here. And...And I can't face eternity without you.'

Robbie is even more horrified to see glittering tears snaking down his husband's face. There's was a faint echo of, 'Please!' as James completely disappears. This time it's not a slow fade, one second there, the next, gone.

'James? James!' He shouts, standing.

There's no answer and no feeling of James anywhere.

Shakily Robbie lowers himself down to a chair, putting his hands on the chair arms and hanging on. He feels sick. What if this is the time when James doesn't come back?

 

It's well after midnight when Robbie wakes with a start, his neck in a crick, his lower back and hips have stiffened up alarmingly making his exit from the chair less than graceful.

For a few seconds he stands still and listens, with ears and heart but is unable to sense anything out of the ordinary.

'Robbie?' Vhia says quietly.

'Mmm?' he replies, distracted.

'After your exercise today you're moving stiffly. May I recommend you use the Sleepaid this evening?'

'Yeah, thanks Vhia.'

The electronic box of tricks, the Sleepaid, removes the need for drugs with all their attendant side effects and after effects, especially on someone elderly, like him. Not only will it unravel his tightened muscles it will also get him to sleep quickly too. In the morning he won't wake up feeling either muzzy or hungover.

He washes, and gets ready for bed, moving slowly and not just because of his aching body. He attaches the electrodes and punches in the numbers for half values, considers his actions, cancels the programme and sets it up for the highest levels possible. He's deeply asleep within a few minutes.

For the next three days Robbie grimly concentrates on getting the garden back into some kind of shape.

Lyn pesters him to come and spend a couple of weeks with her. He kindly, but firmly, puts her off promising that he will spend some time with her but not just at that point.

The truth is he can't bear to listen to anyone else's voice around him. He misses the quiet chatter of his husband too much; his collection of odd anecdotes about the seeds they are planting, his talk about work and their plans for the rest of the gardening year.

He really just misses the sound of his voice and the feeling he gets when James is pottering around.

Within him his soul shudders and cries out, cold and lost without it's other half, although none of this shows on his face.

A couple of days after Lyn has left to go back home, Robbie becomes aware, at the periphery of his attention, that he is being watched and it isn't James.

Without appearing to do so Robbie looks around. The hedgerows and fence are too high at the end of the garden and to his right for anyone to look over at him, unless they are standing on a set of ladders. He knows the people who live in the houses to the right and doesn't think any of them would bother to spy on him, they've all been in their properties for years. That leaves the scrubland at the edge of the woods on the left of the garden.

The row of houses have been built on one side of a slight rise. The land slides down beyond the hedge so that the woodland proper is below the garden about twenty-five yards away then it climbs up the other side of the small valley. Closer to, a wild tangle of briars, shrubs and smaller trees cover the ground.

A twitch of blue catches his eye in the scrubland. The someone who is spying on him has been keeping extremely still apart from that one movement. Once his eyes pick out the figure he's surprised he hasn't noticed the boy before.

He's thin, his face appears as grubby as his coat. Robbie assumes the kid is bunking off school and doesn't envy being in his shoes when his parents get landed with a truancy fine.

For a while he forgets about his spy as he works steadily, the grey, overcast day reflecting his mood perfectly. During the early afternoon the rain, which has been threatening all day, begins to come down in a steady downpour. Deciding against continuing he puts his tools away, checks the greenhouse where James' rose trees and the early seedlings for planting out later are being nurtured. At the far end of the greenhouse large folded sheets of polythene, for the times they use a polytunnel, are kept. He goes towards the pile as it looks like they've shifted in the time since he's last taken notice of them. Hidden within the polythene pile he finds a tatty, dirty sleeping bag which he knows doesn't belong to either James or himself. He takes a good look around the greenhouse. Nothing else has been disturbed. The sleeping bag points towards someone sleeping rough in there though. 

He leaves everything as it is then walks across to the shed and unlocks all the locks on the door. The price of fresh food being what is it, most people try and grow their own and keep the produce locked up somewhere cool and dark.

Their stores of root vegetables look undisturbed from when he'd been in there yesterday, then he notices the carefully lined up carrots have a slight unevenness. The apples, turnips and parsnips are the same. Not a lot of food is missing probably just enough for a skinny lad to appease hunger pains. Alright, so assuming the unknown visitor is the kid who has been spying, he's just sleeping somewhere dry and taking some fruit and vegetables to eat not to sell.

Shrugging, deciding to let things lie, he locks the door again and walks up the garden to the house, turning his collar up against the cold rain.

The very early spring day, shortened considerably by the rain, draws night over itself like a miserable, sodden blanket.

Robbie is puttering around, stirring his stew every now and then in between tidying around and having a look at their seed catalogues. He's desperately holding himself in patience until James' return and keeping himself busy seems to help. He's moving between the large pan of food and the kitchen sink when a stealthy movement from the far end of the garden catches his eye. A slight reflection from the greenhouse door opening and closing. Robbie can't see through the rain so he isn't really sure if it's the kid he'd seen earlier or some other homeless person. Whoever they are he is willing to bet they are cold, wet, miserable and hungry. Making his decision Robbie retrieves a couple of towels, an ancient t-shirt, sweater and fleecy jogging trousers, which had once belonged to James, along with an old jacket which has been on the small side for a while. Grabbing James' old thermos cup he makes a big pot of tea, adds milk and sugar then puts a large helping of the hot stew in a covered container with a couple of doorstep sized pieces of bread on top of the lid. Adding a spoon he shoves the clothes in one cloth bag and the food and drink in another. Putting on his still damp coat he tramps down to the greenhouse.

'Brought you some food, dry clothes and a towel,' he says loudly as he walks into the greenhouse. 'I'll just leave it here.' He puts the bags down on the end of a potting bench.

Briefly he catches sight of the kid before he's hidden himself completely behind the polythene. Pulling the door shut as he leaves Robbie hides a smile. At least the kid will have a hot meal in his belly tonight.

Dimly through the rain Robbie can see the garden door into his home move, swinging a little as though in a breeze, but, it being a still night, that can't be the answer. Several scenarios run through his head from his days on the force; none of them pleasant and all of which involve violence. Suddenly Robbie stops and smiles. Whatever happens he'll be OK. If it's nothing to worry about he'll be no worse off. If someone wants to do him harm then he'll be with James.

Confidently he strides forward. 

He has time for one hard hug and a quick kiss before he can no longer touch James. Those few seconds leave him smiling widely.

'You opened the door!' he states, still grinning.

'I opened the door,' James agrees, his eyes alight. 'And I managed a hug and a kiss.'

'That you did,' Robbie replies gazing adoringly up at his husband. 'You been practising?'

'Only practising opening doors,' James replies, hand on his heart.

'You going to disappear again?' Robbie checks, not taking his eyes off him in case he fades away.

James shakes his head. 'Think I've got a handle on that,' he says sounding confident. 'You weren't still working in the garden in this, were you?'

Robbie shakes his head whilst divesting himself off his wet coat. 'Nah, been seeing to our house guest.'

'Who?' James asks, looking around the lounge.

'Greenhouse guest. Looks like a skinny little runaway. Cold, wet and hungry.'

James grins. 'Still looking out for the waifs and strays.'

'Had a lot of practise,' Robbie replies deadpan. 

 

The next few days are as grey and drizzly as the night James came back. Neither see the kid, but the food Robbie leaves is always gone by morning and his sleeping bag carefully packed away in the polythene. Despite Robbie leaving notes to tell him he can stay it seems the kid is shy.

About a week later the temperature drops. Instead of spring days it seems the weather has reversed back into winter again. Deep frosts make planting out young seedlings inadvisable and digging nearly impossible.

Whilst making up double the usual quantity of food and hot drinks which Robbie is going to leave in the greenhouse, a strange hollow barking sound startles him, echoing across the garden. James and Robbie share a look.

'Is that a fox?'

'Bloody sick fox,' James replies. 'I'll go take a look.'

Calmly Robbie continues to pack the food up. Within a couple of minutes James returns.

'You need to get our houseguest in here, he's pretty sick.'

'Is that him making that noise?'

'Yeah, sounds like he's coughing up a lung!'

Getting their guest out of the greenhouse is tougher than Robbie imagines. He's not as strong as he used to be so picking him up would be difficult if not impossible. It's the first time Robbie has seen the boy this close to; he's too thin, has a high fever, bad B.O. and is older than he first appeared. All he does is beg to stay undercover despite Robbie telling him over and over he's getting him into the house not throwing him out again into the freezing wind and rain. Luckily he's too delirious and weak to actually resist that much. Eventually Robbie struggles in through the garden door with his burden. James hasn't been idle; there are blankets spread on the settee, a pile of towels at one end along with an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and a couple of pillows from the spare bed at the other end. 

As Robbie is getting the young man out of his wet clothing and into the dry he can't help but notice the inevitable hangers-on in the clothes and on the lad's skin. He probably has headlice too but he isn't going to check for those at the moment.

'Vhia, ultrasonics for fleas and lice, please,' James orders.

The interface remains stubbornly silent.

'Vhia, ultrasonics for fleas and lice, please,' Robbie repeats. 

'Yes, Robbie,' she replies smoothly.

'And do a health check on our guest here, as well,' he orders, as he tucks a blanket in around the fevered body.

Vhia begins with the obvious; severe chest infection, malnutrition, followed by influenza, head and body lice infestation then reels off a litany of older injuries which are sadly only too familiar to the two ex-police officers. In his childhood the young man, currently in the grip of this high fever, had been subject to sustained physical abuse.

'Has anyone matching his description he been reported missing recently, Vhia?' Robbie asks.

'No Robbie. But I have a ninety-eight percent probability match from the births and deaths database that his name is Michael David Hall.'

'Do you have a location on his parents?'

'No father given, mother's current location unknown. Last known address is six years ago on the outskirts of Birmingham.' There is a pause then Vhia continues. 'I have a social care report on Michael, he was taken into foster care several times from age three onwards, then taken into care and put up for adoption aged ten. He disappeared three months later.'

'How old is he?' Robbie asks.

'Nineteen,' a voice from the settee croaks, 'I'm nearly nineteen.'

'That is consistent with the data I have,' Vhia agrees.

'Hi, Mike, is it?'

'Dave, I prefer Dave.'

'Alright then, Dave. I'm Robbie.' With an effort he bites his tongue before he introduces James. 'I couldn't leave you in the greenhouse, you're far too ill.'

'No, I'm alright. If you'll let me stay out there, I'll go as soon as I'm better.'

'You'll stay right where you are, young man,' Robbie replies in his best DI's voice. 'Otherwise you'll end up in hospital, or worse.'

Dave's over bright eyes flicker up to Robbie's face.

'Officially you're an adult and I can't order you around but I won't see you killing yourself in my greenhouse when you need a bit of tlc until your fever has gone down and you're over the 'flu.'

Dave subsides back under the blankets, more through lack of energy Robbie thinks than actual obedience.

'What kind of medicine is that?' he asks, in between coughing, his brief lucidity leaving him.

'What medicine?'

'Tlc.'

Robbie smiles down at him sadly. 'Go to sleep, lad.'

 

After getting some febrifuge tablets down Dave's throat and a long drink of water, Robbie sits beside him patiently sponging him down with tepid water laced with a few drops of lavender oil. Robbie wakes him when the antibiotics arrive which Vhia had auto-ordered on Robbie's health credits. 

A couple of hours later his temperature begins to come down and he falls into a calmer sleep.

'Go to bed Robbie, I'll stay up and keep an eye on him.'

Gratefully he smiles up at James. 'Thanks love.'

'Go on. You're dead on your feet.' 

Robbie gets to his feet, air kisses his husband and makes his way to bed as James settles in the vacated chair preparing to spend a less than scintillating night watching over a young chap he doesn't know when he could be sleeping next to Robbie.

 

Hours later Robbie awakes to the sound of hail rattling against the windows and James' voice droning on as if reading something out loud. Quietly he gets up and puts on his warmest dressing gown then pads downstairs.

James reads to the end of the sentence before closing the book and smiling at him.

'Peter Pan?' Robbie asks, half remembering the story.

James nods. 'Seems to calm him down. I'd say he needs more tablets, water and probably a bucket.'

Robbie nods and goes to get supplies.

Having taken care of the basics, Dave goes to sleep again so Robbie leaves James in charge whilst he goes to shower and dress. Not too soon either. As he is putting on a thick, warm cardigan Lyn calls, Vhia kindly putting it through on the screen in his bedroom.

'Dad, are you OK? When did you start with a chest infection?'

'Morning love,' he replies, sitting on the bed.

'Sorry, morning Dad. You don't sound ill.'

'I'm not. So what is it, you tapped into the health service database or have you got a line into Vhia?'

'Vhia. She auto-ordered which means she did a health check and found an infection bad enough to warrant immediate supplies.'

Robbie smiles. 'Well you can stop worrying, they're not for me.'

'They're against your health credits.'

'A young lad has been living in the greenhouse, he's got a chest infection and the 'flu.'

'So why are you looking after him? Get social care onto it.'

'He's over eighteen.'

'Then get him to hospital and let them find him a place to recover.'

'Oh come on Lyn, he won't have any health credits built up, he'll end up on the lowest dose of drugs available and they won't be able to find him anywhere to recuperate so he'll be back on the streets as soon as he can stand and probably dead in a month.'

'What about Leslie Clawson? Doesn't he still run that place out at Kidlington?'

'Leslie? He died three years ago. Baker House closed down when I was still on the force.'

'There's no reason why you have to take him in. Someone else should be looking after him, not you.'

'Lyn!'

'I don't mean sit back and leave him outside, I mean call social care and get him looked after professionally.' Her voice rises in what Robbie recognises as anxiety.

'I think I can manage to look after one sick kid. I have done it before,' he adds dryly.

'When you were fifty years younger!' she replies, acidly.

'He's staying, now stop your worrying. The kids alright?' he asks, distracting her momentarily.

'Fine.' She sighs heavily. 'Give me a call if he gets worse or it's something you're not sure about, alright?'

'Yes love.'

'You have had your 'flu jab, haven't you?' she asks suddenly.

'What do you think?'

'Sorry, silly question. Do you want me to take a look at his readings?'

'If you don't mind,' Robbie replies. Vhia is good but it never hurts to get a human doctor to check things.

'Blood 'ell, Dad!' she says softly when she finishes looking through Vhia's health check. 'Any idea who carried out the abuse?'

He shakes his head. 'Not got that kind of access any more. Not that it's not good to see your smiling face, but I need to...'

She smiles, immediately looking years younger. 'You need to get back to your patient.'

 

For the following couple of days Robbie does the physical work of looking after their lodger whilst James makes sure Robbie gets enough rest and looks after himself, whilst he takes over the night-time watches. On the third day he notices Dave tracking him as he walks around the guest bedroom, where Robbie has managed to get him situated.

'Can you see me?' James asks bluntly.

Dave nods sleepily. 'Will you finish that story sometime?' he asks quietly.

'When you're awake enough to listen, yes, I will.'

Explaining circumstances to their guest could be an interesting conversation for later, he reflects.

Downstairs he finds Robbie sitting on the settee, the screen in front of him recently shut down. He motions to the screen, still ultra careful about stepping within visual range of any calls.

Robbie pats the place next to him.

'Found out why Lyn wasn't camping on our doorstep; she got hold of Dave's care records.'

'The mother? Trust issues with women?'

Robbie nods. 'Looks like she took out her frustrations and bad temper on him whenever she felt like it and rarely bothered taking him for medical treatment. Claims she was beating the devil out of him! Neighbour found him hiding in his garden with a broken wrist and fractured ribs when he was three.'

'The the revolving door of the care system and back to her.'

'About the size of it, poor bugger.'

'Just found out something else interesting about him,' James says.

Robbie looks up at him.

'He can see me. Asked if I'd finish reading Peter Pan to him sometime.'

'Oh! That's going to be an interesting conversation for when he's feeling better.'

Given his state of health it takes a while before Dave is well enough to sit at the side of his bed, and even longer before he can make it downstairs and sit on the settee with James. 

James good naturedly reads to him until he falls asleep then he drifts outside and talks to Robbie as he plants young salad greens now that there is a break in the weather.

One afternoon, Robbie looks up from where he is planting a row of radish on hearing the garden door open.

'Let me help, please?'

Dave's face is chalk white and it is obviously taking him all his strength to stand.

'Sit down, before you fall down,' Robbie says, creakily getting to his knees, whilst James ushers him into the garden chair where Robbie liked to sit and have his morning tea.

'I feel terrible...'

'Then you shouldn't be out here,' Robbie interrupts. 

'No, I feel terrible just watching you do all this work. You've been so kind to me and neither of you ask me to do anything.'

'You don't owe us anything,' Robbie says. 'Do you like gardening?'

'I like plants,' Dave replies.

'Is that how you've kept yourself going?' James asks. 'Foraging.'

'Don't know what that is, but I know which plants are good to eat and which will make you sick.'

'Have you just drifted around from place to place eating what plants you could get?' Robbie asks curiously.

'At first, then I found an old place out in the middle of nowhere. There were six others there. As long as I helped with the garden I got some of the food we grew. One of the lads, Ty, he could read, books and stuff, he told us how we could store food to feed us over winter, like you do. In the shed I mean. In damp sand. He said that was how people did it in olden times before anybody had a fridge or a freezer.'

'What happened to Ty?'

'He went when they knocked the old place down. Ty, Wilson and Gabe, they were like you,' Dave says looking at James. 'The rest of us were like Robbie.'

Robbie and James share a look.

'Ty was younger than you?' Robbie asks carefully.

'Nah, they were dead. Been dead a long time. That's how Ty could pick up books and read to us. Have you been dead a long time as well?' he asks James.

After a stunned few seconds of silence James replies, 'Not too long. About four months.'

'Four? You're good! You can pick a book up. Wilson told me it took them ages to learn how to do that.'

'It doesn't bother you then...?' Robbie let the question hang.

Dave shook his head. 'Why should it?'

'Some people might have trouble coping with being able to see me,' James says gently.

Dave nods. 'Yeah, I know.'

Following a hunch Robbie asks, 

'Was your mum like that?'

Dave nods. 'She said I was a liar and liars had to stop making stuff up.'

'Did she hit you?'

'Yeah then, and when she got drunk. Have you always been able to see them as well?' Dave asks Robbie, quite obviously changing the conversation.

'No, just James.'

'Can I help you?'

'As soon as you get your strength up,' James replies on behalf of them both.

Later that evening, following an idea James asked Dave to read from one of the many books in his and Robbie's collection. The young man went bright red but didn't demur. 

'I can't read as good as you,' he says to James. 

'Doesn't matter,' James replies calmly.

As he expected, Dave's reading skills are rudimentary, as would match with a child who'd had such a troubled upbringing. Seamlessly James began to give the younger man a little coaching. By the end of the week the improvement was marked. 

Bit by bit, between them, Robbie and James continue Dave's education; reading, writing, maths, cooking but his favourite subject is always anything which involves plants and the garden.

Several weeks later as summer is dipping towards autumn and Dave and Robbie have had a long day in the garden planting out more vegetables, Robbie has gone indoors in order to begin preparing supper leaving Dave to finish tidying the tools away and do some potting out in the greenhouse. Through the window he can see James and Dave nattering together both of them bent over the roses on the benches. He knows immediately that James has a happily captive audience for a discussion on hybridisation of roses. At supper that night Dave can talk of little else which relieves Robbie's mind, he still can't get his head around the roses. Catching James eye across the table Robbie smiles. Both of them know Dave isn't going to be leaving them in the foreseeable future.

Dave slots into the unusual household extremely well. His interest in growing food and even improving the food production is genuine. Despite his abusive childhood he is extremely well adjusted psychologically. Maybe that was due to his other, less obvious, gifts. He'd also had the benefit of a lot of advice over the years when living with his other incorporeal 'family' as well.

Lyn makes sure she calls her father several times and makes a point of speaking to Dave too. At first she is making sure her father is safe with this person living in his home and, secondly, she's letting him get used to her before she turns up in person.

Initially, on meeting her, he's wary but perfectly respectful. He relaxes a little but as soon as he can he shoots out to the garden to find something to do. Lyn uses the time to chat to her Dad as they putter about putting the finishing touches to dinner. As Robbie is setting the table Lyn walks down the garden to the greenhouse to let Dave know the food is ready. As she gets nearer she can hear him talking. She looks through the glass but he's quite alone. Almost without being too aware of it she listens. He's definitely having a conversation, there are appropriate points where he stops talking as if he's listening to a reply. She assumes he is talking about plants as she can hear pollen parents and seed parents being mentioned. Then he is off and talking about cross fertilisation of potatoes and apples. She lingers just out of reach of the door then her blood runs cold as she hears him laugh and say a name - James.

Damn! It was too good to be true. He's not as psychologically stable as he appears. Quietly and thoughtfully she walks quickly back to the house.

'Where's Dave, love?' Robbie asks as soon as she's got back inside.

'Dad, sit down a minute.'

'What's up?'

'I think I need to get a specialist in, Dad.'

'What? Who for?'

'For Dave. He's in the greenhouse having an imaginary conversation with James.'

Robbie looks at his daughter, at a bit of a loss on what to say. James is standing behind her saying, 'I'm sorry Robbie, we got chatting about doing some apple crosses, I didn't realise she'd heard us, well, heard Dave.'

Dave comes running down the garden, not able to move as quickly as James, and bursts into the room, his brown eyes looking huge in his lightly tanned face.

Trying for a light touch Robbie says, 'Oh, he'll have picked that up from me. I talk to James all the time.'

'Don't worry Dave, we can sort this out. There's plenty of medication available that can help you with this,' Lyn tells the young man, switching into doctor mode effortlessly.

'I don't need any medication,' Dave replies.

'Do you really think it's normal to speak to the dead?'

He draws in a deep breath and replies, 'I don't just speak to them, I can see them as well.'

Lyn closes her eyes for a moment before continuing, 'We can help those symptoms as well, Dave.'

'Then you've better make sure they can help your old Dad as well, I've been seeing James and talking to him since the morning of his funeral,' Robbie tells her.

'What? Why didn't you say anything?'

'Because I knew how you'd react. How I would have reacted in the past. I don't want treatment Lyn, because I want to keep seeing him and talking to him.'

'Dad you must know that's just your imagination. It's the grief. I can get you a good counsellor...' Lyn stops speaking and stares at the dining chair beside her as it slowly draws itself from under the table and turns slightly in her direction.

'James says you'd better sit down,' Dave says, gently guiding her down to the seat.

'J J James?' she stammers.

A glass pushes itself towards her right hand. Robbie picks up the wine bottle, seems to think the better of it, then Dave runs across to the cabinet where the stronger spirits are kept, returns with a bottle of brandy and pours a good measure into the glass. She feels like she's watching Dave and Robbie running around like good little soldiers obeying orders, orders she can't hear.

Lyn contemplates the amber liquid for a moment then knocks it back in one, screwing her face up. At some silent signal Dave refills her glass again as Robbie says gently,

'Take it easy, lass.'

'Is he still here?'

Robbie nods.

She takes a sip of the brandy then gives a mix of a laugh and a sob.

'He's why you wouldn't come up to Manchester with me, after the funeral?'

'Guilty,' Robbie replies coming to sit on her left.

She nods thoughtfully, taking another sip of brandy.

'Why can't I see him?'

'I've no idea, love,' Robbie replies, holding her hand. 'I didn't realise anyone else could see him until Dave.'

Dinner is a little awkward; Lyn, still considering a fundamental shift in her world view whilst Dave and Robbie are waiting to see which way she will jump. After dinner she seems to be coming down on the side of hard science, having seemingly forgotten about the chair and glass incident. She's sitting at the table swirling the dregs of the wine in the bottom of her glass. Robbie and Dave are getting ready for their usual evening lessons on the opposite side of the table when James concentrates her mind by leaning towards her and putting his arm around her in a sideways hug, just as he used to. She freezes, her eyes wide, torn between hope and disbelief. Then she bursts into tears.

Robbie pats Dave on the shoulder then goes and sits beside his daughter pulling her into his arms. Lyn sobs a vaguely coherent litany of worry about her father being on his own again and missing James and being lonely and isolated. Whilst comforting his daughter he has to repress a smile as he hears James and Dave, both of whom decamped to the kitchen at the first sign of womanly tears.

'Dave, now is the time for that very English cure all,’ James says.  
'I'll get the kettle on.'

 

It could be imagination and a little prejudice but Robbie thinks the vegetables and fruit from the garden are tasting better and certainly seem to be larger sized. James and Dave are quite happy experimenting with crossing various species of vegetables, most work, a couple are absolute disasters in the beginning which are never repeated. It's becoming more and more obvious that Dave has a real gift with plants.

For the garden needs which they couldn't produce themselves, Robbie and James had used Neil Anderson's outfit. It had the advantage of being nearby and Neil didn't believe in a lot of useless chemicals. He was definitely one for natural food and flower production as far as possible. 

Finding a kindred spirit and a fount of knowledge whenever they visit the premises Dave makes a point of asking lots of questions, remembering the answers Neil gives then reporting back on the results. By the end of the second winter neither Robbie nor James are too surprised when Neil Anderson offers Dave an apprenticeship in horticulture. It's hard work but Dave loves it, coming back each evening to tell both men all about his day then getting to work on their garden. Dave has also managed to do something neither James nor Lyn have; he has extracted a promise from Robbie that he won't do too much of the hard digging in the garden when Dave isn't around.

Lying in their bed after a long, lazy summer's day Robbie says quietly to James,

'You know Dave is like the son we never had.'

James props himself up on his elbow, looking down at his husband says,

'Are you reading my mind again?'

Robbie laughs. 'The telepathy comes with long married life, love!'

'Scary thought.'

'Mmm, especially when one of the minds is yours!'

 

After a couple of just medium wet summers and one uncharacteristically dryish one, the fourth is back to very wet and ruined harvests, apart from Robbie's garden. The root vegetables have survived extremely well, the fruit harvest isn't too bad and the salad vegetables seem to thrive. Quite rightly he puts it down to Dave now being in charge of planting. Sitting in the greenhouse, when he can force his way in passed the massed ranks of rose trees and vines, Robbie is treated to a long lecture on the various cross breeding which have been growing in his garden and most of which he's been eating for some time now. Dave has a large ledger open in front of him where he records all the crosses, their characteristics and the way they thrive, or otherwise, in various weather conditions plus the harvest and true breeding details. According to Dave, the ability of a crossed plant to breed true is one of the most important signs of success.

'We've got great hopes for these,' he says, pointing to a set of healthy looking rose trees at the far end of the greenhouse.'

Behind him James is grinning widely.

'Don't tell me this might be the rose?'

'Yep,' James replies. 

Grinning, Robbie gets up and makes his way back down the garden.

Behind him Dave watches one of his surrogate father's walk; he's more stooped, his hands are crabbed with the beginnings of arthritis which he tries to ignore. He's also never really recovered the weight he lost after a bad cold in the early summer after he got drenched digging a trench for the potatoes.

'He's looking so frail, James,' Dave whispers.

'He's in his nineties, I think he's entitled to look a little frail, don't you? Compared to the way I looked just before I died, he's the picture of health!'

Dave dutifully smiles but James can tell his heart isn't in it.

 

It's a harsh winter. When it isn't snowing it's icy and when it isn't icy it's wet, wet to ground saturation point. Again Dave's veg are thriving and he's making a little money developing the seeds. Given the weather Dave is manic about making sure the greenhouse is protected leading Robbie to remark with a smile that there is no way he is going to be allowed to sleep back out there anytime soon.

Robbie isn't a fool, he knows he isn't getting any younger. He's already talked things over with Lyn to ensure Dave will always have a home then he spends the rest of the winter complaining that James and Dave are trying to fatten him up like a Christmas turkey. Despite his complaints by the following spring he has regained his lost weight and is looking very well again which is a worry off Lyn's mind.

It's mid-morning, on a Saturday. Robbie is happily turning the ground ready for sowing some radish. These are seeds Dave has developed, large sized veg but fiery hot, just the way Robbie likes them. He's looking forward to trying them. A bit later on he thinks he might put some more lettuce in as well. Lyn is coming down for a few days the following week and she does like the little crunchy lettuce. Suddenly there is a bit of a hullabaloo from the greenhouse. Both James' and Dave's voices are raised. James ducks his head out and shouts,

'Robbie!'

He sticks his shovel in the ground and saunters up to them. At the door of the greenhouse an amazing scent meets him; heady and complex like the bouquet of a well aged wine with the sweetest of top notes. He closes his eyes and sniffs appreciatively. 

'That's a wonderful smell! What is it from?'

Like a pair of magicians showing off the final act of a particular arduous trick, James and Dave pull apart and motion towards one of the myriad rose bushes. 

It's covered in buds, some tight, furled and green, others fat and creamy white, two in the front are half opened. As he goes nearer he can tell the divine scent is coming from the two blooms. The rose is a large flower, the petals around the outside the same creamy white as the other fat buds, fading to a delicate tinge of palest blush pink in a thin layer around the velvety blood red core. Its appearance is as breathtaking as it's scent.

'You did it!' he exclaims to them both. 'It's beautiful!'

James and Dave start chattering both at once, excitement pouring off them in palpable waves.

'Congratulations! Dave lad, go and open that bottle in the fridge.'

'I thought we were saving that for your birthday,' Dave objects.

'I've had plenty of them, lad, this is a once in a lifetime celebration. Get that bottle opened!'

Before long the greenhouse has a steady stream of visitors. Some in person, like an extremely excited Neil Anderson, some over the video link all admiring the new rose. Above the crowd Neil's booming voice rings out.

'What are you going to call it?'

'What?' Dave glances to where James is sitting on the arm of Robbie's chair. James makes a 'carry on' motion with his hand.

'Well, I'd like to call it 'Robbie and James',' he says, smiling broadly at the two men.

'Robbie and James,' the toast rings out.

Robbie never did get the radishes sown that day.

The next morning Robbie is up and about rather earlier than Dave. He puts the radishes in and the lettuce then goes to make a brew by which time a rather green faced Dave has appeared.

Robbie laughs cruelly as he plonks a cup of tea in front of him and says,

'Bathroom cabinet.'

Dave slinks off without another word.

Robbie takes his tea outside to the greenhouse. He can see the back of James blonde head sitting inside admiring the roses.

'Morning love, wondered where you'd got to.'

The scent has gathered force overnight and the heat in there has encouraged more roses to open adding their perfume. The atmosphere inside the greenhouse is almost narcotic.

'Where's our man of the hour?' James asks.

'Trying to dispel his hangover,' Robbie replies, laughing as he sits on the opposite side of the table from James, then reaches across to hold his hand; their favourite sitting position.

James smiles and starts to talk. What he's talking about Robbie isn't sure, his hearing has gone fuzzy, his eyesight seems to be going the same way too. He feels like he's viewing the world through a thick fog. And he's tired, oh so very tired.

He lifts his chin from his chest and looks around. His vision is clear, clearer than ever in fact. James is kneeling in front of him holding both his hands and he can feel them, warm, comforting and a more solid presence than he's felt in a very long time.

'Feeling better?' James asks.

'I think I had a bit of a funny turn.'

James giggles. 'Yeah. You could say that,' as he helps him to his feet.'

Robbie stands, effortlessly. His hip doesn't pull, his knees aren't aching and he can stretch his fingers without a problem. Then he is enveloped in his husband's arms, really, truly and properly. 

Like a sweet summer shower the knowledge seeps into him and through him. He looks into James' eyes and doesn't even have to ask how long he's known.

At the end of the garden the door closes and a rather dishevelled Dave is making his way towards them, a mug of tea in either hand.

'This last bit, it was never about us,' Robbie says.

James shakes his head as they watch the peaky young man's progress.

'It was about him. The man who'll feed the world. The rose is the real beginning,' James says, solidifying the knowledge.

Robbie's eyes fall on the overturned mug on the floor, then rise to the body of the very old man in the chair, his hand halfway across the table.

'I'll head him off,' James says, slipping through the greenhouse door knowing that Robbie doesn't want Dave to find his body.

Within seconds Dave is haring down the garden to the house, shouting for Vhia all the way.

 

Over the following days Robbie tries his best to let Dave know he's OK, well more than OK, but it's like trying to speak to him through a bubble of soundproofed glass.

'Was this what it was like for you?' he asks James.

'At first.'

'What happens now?'

'We'll know soon enough.'

 

A week after his funeral Lyn is talking with the still grief-stricken Dave. Robbie listens in shamelessly as his daughter asks if it would be alright for her grand-daughter, Elaine and her twin-brother, Thomas, to move into the house with him. They've both got apprenticeships in Oxford, Thomas in a law firm and Elaine at the botanical gardens. Dave nods dully as Lyn holds his hand then wraps him in hug.

'You've heard James tell you he's fine.'

He sniffs and replies through his tears, 'I know, but I can't see him and I miss him so much.'

'Me too, love, me too.'

James tightens his hold around Robbie as he steps forward to try and offer comfort to his daughter and surrogate son. At the same moment they both stop as the strange feeling of knowledge comes over them again.

'Dave and Elaine?' Robbie says in surprise.

'Dave and Elaine!' James replies, delight colouring his voice.

Neither, at first, notice the gentle, white light enfolding them then, for a second, Robbie looks worried until James smiles and says, 'You wanted to know what happens next.'

 

 

Title shamelessly nicked from Dylan Thomas' poem of the same name.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night  
Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  
Dylan Thomas


End file.
